


miles to go

by hissingmiseries



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, One Shot, Returning Home, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-06 02:45:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8731798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hissingmiseries/pseuds/hissingmiseries
Summary: "Vic," he says, barely a whisper. Her breath stirs on the other side. "What do I do?"
"Oh, Rob," Victoria says, and he can hear the tears brimming in her eyes. "Come home." Or, Robert returns after too many years away.





	

**Author's Note:**

> *pokes at this work with a stick* this is just... a thing. the structure is all over the shop, as well - i'm sorry if any parts are confusing! also it's really late and i cba to proofread so there's almost definitely mistakes in this, sorry for that too. there's lots of filler in this but it's all rob/liv and rob/dingles so fi said it's acceptable.
> 
> thank you to [fiona](http://softrobertsugden.tumblr.com) for being my rock! i'd never have gotten through this without you.
> 
> title is from the robert frost poem, _stopping by woods on a snowy evening_.

The sign reads, _Robblesfield 3½. Demdyke ¼. Emmerdale ½. Connelton 3¼. Hotten 8._

Robert rests his head against the steering wheel, breathing slowly. It's high summer; the windows are rolled down and the grass is throwing up pollen. It's greener than he remembers, brighter. The flowers open like fingers and the clouds sleep behind the trees, revealing blue, expanses of blue.

"Rob?" his phone says. It's on the passenger seat, buzzing against the leather. "You still there?"

He sighs and picks it up, presses it against his ear. 

 

"Vic," he says, barely a whisper. Her breath stirs on the other side. "What do I do?"

"Oh, Rob," Victoria says, and he can hear the tears brimming in her eyes. "Come home."

 

-

 

The jury made their decision quickly.

Robert was thirty. He was stood in the witness box, a thousand eyes on him, looking him up and down, scouring him for guilt. He'd been here many times before but never as the accused; never as the one whose freedom is on the line, balancing, uncertain. His suit was crisp and his hair groomed, and he could taste fear between his teeth, dripping from his tongue.

 _You are innocent,_ he told himself. For once, he wasn't lying. 

 

-

 

The first year out of prison is the worst. Robert is thirty-four. The air feels strange on his skin.

 

He's released from his cage and no-one is there to pick him up; he stands on the pavement, the sun beating down on him accusingly like it's angry that he's been allowed out, allowed to walk the streets. His clothes are crumpled and musky, the stench of prison woven into the fabric; he wants to claw them off but first, he needs to find somewhere he can stay. 

It's been four years. A car passes by, a model he doesn't recognise. Someone talks on a phone with a logo he's never seen before. Everything feels jarred, hazy like he's underwater, or waking from a long slumber, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

He tells himself  _no_ to whatever he thinks, and walks. 

 

Phoneboxes still exist; a pleasant surprise, he finds, despite how defaced and damaged they all are. He finds some change on the high street and feeds it in, punches in a number, ignores the swelling in his stomach and the hands around his heart.

"The Woolpack," a voice says down the line, mellow and buttery. It strikes him how different her voice sounds.

She's a mother now, he's heard. His baby sister, the best of all of them; he's missed so much, missed _her_ so much.

"Vic?" he says. His throat is like sandpaper - rough and raw.

"Speakin'?"

"It's Robert."

There's a beat of silence where Vic goes very quiet. " _Robert._ "

Then she cries and cries and Rob feels the telephone shake in his hand.

 

Victoria drives down and finds him, and takes him for food. He inhales his meal like he's not eaten for weeks and the whole time she watches him, eyes wide. She's grown, sprouted like a flower, the threads of her hair blonde in the sun and her nose freckled. She's pretty pregnant too, her tummy protruding from beneath her shirt like a beach ball; the baby kicks against his hand, _hello_.

She says, "People miss you." There are sun rays filtering in through the café window, catching her eyelashes. 

"Should I go back?" he asks; he'd asked himself it over and over in his cell when his release date grew near. At first he couldn't wait for the day, for the taste of freedom on his lips but then the visits stopped and he realised that maybe, just maybe, they weren't as excited.

Vic doesn't answer straight away. She understands. She always has - they've always understood one another. She reaches out, puts her hand on top of his; he's grown unfamiliar to that kind of touch - gentle, careful - but he doesn't flinch. "We'll always want you back."

 

She talks about Aaron; about how he's still there, living day-to-day, surviving.

He thinks about Aaron a lot. He's brought a lot to Aaron, not all of it good; he's watched him harden from glass to steel, watched him take on the world with all its claws and teeth and come out stronger than ever. 

Aaron will be twenty-eight now. He'll be older and harder, no longer steel but titanium.

Robert is thirty-four, and he's glass. Not even glass - he's paper, ripped at the edges. Scrunched up and spat back out.

 

 -

 

He gets a flat and a job. It takes some searching - people are wary about hiring felons, especially those in for burglary. He contemplates moving down south, down to the greenery of Devon or Cornwall where he can start again, where people won't know his name and he can build a whole new _him_. Maybe not. Every sight of fields and farms has him aching with want; he wants and wants and buries it down.

He hated it inside. It wasn't difficult but he hated it. He survived, which is more than what can be said for some of the other inmates. He got by, watched people come and go, didn't grow attached because he adjusted to the way they rotated, arriving and leaving every day. He'd blink and people would be gone, replaced with new faces, juvenile voices.

 

(They ask him what he's in for. At first he tells the truth - _I didn't do anything_ \- but they laugh and nudge him and say  _sure, neither did I._ )

 

His flat is quiet. He needs a flatmate but he knows it would be near impossible. Everything is loud, too loud - he flinches at every sound, sleeps lightly and springs awake at the wind howling outside or the tap of the tree branches against his window. Inside, he grew used to noise, knew it was a sign of danger coming but now everything is a sign and it has him wrenching up in the night, sweating, trembling.

It's scary to be out of the nick. Everything about him is waking, stirring, unfurling like wings. He is slow in step and speech and when he turns a corner, he feels his words catch in his throat every now and again.

Sometimes he has to remind himself to breathe, and that's okay. He knows he's adapting, and it'll take time.

Victoria rings every day; every other day, sometimes, when baby Lizzy's being a pain. She texts Robert pictures of his niece and it takes him aback just how much she looks like the perfect mix of her and Adam. She has the Sugden smile, the unique glint to her eye. 

 

"She looks like you."

"She looks like _you._ Look at that smile - butter wouldn't melt. Where 'ave I seen that before, eh?"

 

 -

 

He finds a flatmate, much to his surprise. She's an ex-con too, served a stretch for perjury when she was barely out of school; she's younger than him and spritely, always on the roll. She's nice, too - she drags him to the pub on quiz nights and shares her Netflix password, so Robert can't really complain.

They click; not in the tongues and teeth way but in the puzzle piece way. They get on, trust each other. And she believes him about his innocence, which is more than he could ever ask for.

She tells him about her little brother, the one who's fifteen and almost definitely heading down the wrong path, and Robert tells her about Aaron; about his terror of a step-daughter who isn't really a terror and his little sister who's always seemed three steps ahead of him in life. He talks and talks about them until she's looking at him out of the corner of her eye, questioningly.

"What?" he asks, eyebrows drawing together.

"Nowt, you just - you obviously miss 'em. What are still doing here?" she says through a mouthful of coffee. "They're probably worried sick about you."

"I'm keeping you company, aren't I?" He offers with a smirk. 

She laughs back at him, shaking her head. "Oh aye, cause I'm totally your anchor. Seriously though, Rob, your family will be wondering what's taking you so long."

"I know," he says, unsure. "I just need to - to figure stuff out."

"You've had four years to figure it out," she points out, and Robert scoffs. She's very blunt, he's come to learn. 

Maybe she's right. She seems to be right about a lot of things; predicting the FA cup scores, guessing the weather, dishing out life advice - a wise head on youthful shoulders.

 

She leaves him three months later. Her brother's in the shit and she _can't_ stay, she just can't. 

She hugs him at the door, bag slung over her shoulder and Robert realises how lightly she holds him. Like she's scared he'll shatter under her fingertips.

"Go home," she tells him. "Go back to your Aaron."

 

 _Your Aaron._ The words cling to the door as he shuts it, and linger on his shoulders for the rest of the day.

 

He gets a phone call: Victoria, excited, yapping like a terrier. Her voice is pitchy down the line and Robert's darting around the kitchen, cooking tea with his mobile lodged between his shoulder and his ear when she mentions  _his_ name and he feels himself stop dead.

"Aaron's just landed a massive deal with a client," she says, slowing down, knowing exactly what she's doing; she can hear the way her brother's breathing has hitched, can probably feel his heart thudding all the way from the village. "He's gone down to London for the week. Liv's still here - which she's moanin' about - but Adam's gone with him. Lads night out an' all that."

"Well, tell him congrats from me, yeah?" he suggests.

"Come up and tell him yourself."

He sees her response coming from a mile off and bites his lip; it sounds so simple when she words it like that.

 

Robert feels ill. The idea of going back makes his stomach churn just a little - seeing people's faces, knowing they'll be whispering behind his back, gossiping like they always have done - but then he imagines Aaron. Imagines how much Aaron might have changed, how much he might have grown, not just relying on the image Vic paints for him every day but seeing the real thing for the first time in far too long.

His legs go funny at the thought.

He almost forgot how Aaron makes him feel like this:  _alive_.

 

Robert went to prison once, and he didn't feel alive for a very long time.

But then he gets into his car, taps an address into the sat-nav and when it suggests  _The Woolpack, Emmerdale_ as his destination he feels something burst inside him and spill out into his system.

And for once, it isn't cold.

 

-

 

"Oh, Rob. Come home."

 

-

 

It takes Robert six months from his release to drum up the courage to go back. A while, yes, but he does go back, and that's what matters.

 

He pulls up into a car park in Hotten and walks it in, one bag over his shoulder because he's lived lightly for years now and it's a habit that's hard to shake. It's baking hot and everything's oversaturated in the sunlight, bright to his eyes that are used to grey walls and greyer skies. Summer has drawn the grass and the flowers from their beds and despite a few unfamiliar cars, it still looks the same. The air smells like mown grass, cooking pasties. Emmerdale. 

They're there, Diane and Vic with baby Lizzy on her hip; she's a small blob, not quite fully human-shaped. Diane is crying softly; her eyes are more wrinkled at the corners than Robert remembers and he smells jasmine perfume when she hugs him. 

"Oh, _love_ ," she weeps into his shoulder.

Whatever she wants to say next doesn't come out but it's enough to have Robert already blinking back his own tears.

Vic is next, bouncing Lizzy slightly, introducing her to  _uncle Rob._ A chubby arm reaches up for him, touches his cheek and Lizzy looks almost infatuated, like she's seeing new colours for the very first time. 

It's midday, the sky is a brilliant blue and in the distance, green sprawls out for miles.

Robert hasn't seen colours like this for a long time, either.

 

Aaron's in London. Liv's at college - she's eighteen, now. Robert blinks when he realises, like he's misheard Vic telling him. 

He closes his eyes, tries not to focus on all the things he's missed but the things he's going to see.

 

-

 

The Woolpack hasn't changed a bit, which is comforting. Someone's lit an orange-scented candle and Marlon's cooking stew.

Charity drops a glass when she sees him. Literally drops it - she stops dead and it falls, shattering on the floor.

"Bloody hell," she says, eyes wide. "It's been four years already?"

 

She smells like cinnamon and wears her streaked hair up in a bun; she's aged well, Robert can't deny that. When she's finished palming the work off on a young-looking barmaid whom Robert doesn't recognise, she pulls them both a drink and grabs them a table.

"So," she begins. "Here for Aaron, then?"

"Here for everyone," Rob replies. He sips at his lager, his first real drink in ages.

"You're definitely stayin'?" she asks, with a voice that makes it sound like she already knows his answer.

"I don't know, I - I think so." He thinks about his grotty little flat back in Leeds, about the emptiness of it all. "Unless someone doesn't want me to."

"That someone being Aaron?" she says with a knowing look. 

"Is he alright?" He remembers the first few months of being in prison, the visits where Aaron was permanently red-faced and teary, dabbing at his eyes with his sleeves. Robert had leant forwards and held his hand and Aaron had sworn he'd do everything he could to get him out. "It's been so long."

"It has," Charity nods, agreeing. "But he's still here. And, between you and me, he's still wearin' his ring."

Robert looks down at the silver band on his ring finger and deflates a little.

 

He'd been allowed to keep his ring when he was inside. It helped him. When things got tough he'd reach for it, feel the metal beneath his fingertips, work it around his finger.

Once, his cell got ransacked by someone and they'd pinned him upside the wall, emptied his belongings. He'd curled his hand up into a fist and refused.

 

Cain Dingle walks in; he's gone grey at the fringes and he's back with Moira. Charity isn't sending them dirty looks anymore.

He buys Robert a pint and doesn't look as dangerous as he used to. There's still a hardness is his eyes, one which he especially regarded Robert with once upon a time but now his jaw isn't clenched and his knuckles aren't scraped the way they used to permanently be. Time must've softened him, he thinks - that or Moira's worked her magic.

"When did ya get out?"

"A few months ago," Robert mumbles. 

"Took ya time." He has a point, but Rob doesn't expect him to understand. It's Cain - he's never been rational.

He swallows, hard. "I -"

"'s alright," he then says, and it's weird, softer. "You're back now, at least."

"Is Aaron alright?" Robert can't help asking; he'll ask everyone he comes across, even if they all say the same thing. 

"Yeah, he's doin' fine," Cain nods. He swirls his drink around in the bottom of the glass. "He's down south at the moment, though, business stuff. But yeah, he's been - been gettin' on with life."

The words  _without you_ latch onto the end.

 

Aaron is in London. It's not supposed to hurt like it does; it's supposed to be a relief. He doesn't want Aaron to see him like he is now - floating around, not fully there. He wants to ground himself, to convince himself that all of this is real.

 

 -

 

He sits in a corner booth with Victoria, cradling his drink between his palms.

People have stopped to look at him, to check they're not actually seeing things; all the Bartons have rocked up, bar Adam, and said hello - apart from Ross, for obvious reasons. Cain has told the rest of the Dingles and they've arrived, running to embrace him, to welcome him back. They spout their pieces about injustice, and how it's a disgrace what was done to him and Robert can do nothing but nod along dumbly.

It'd be very different if he _was_ guilty.

Chas is out shopping; she hasn't seen him yet. He overhears Cain telling her on the phone, and the knot in his stomach tightens.

 

"Liv's in college, you said?" he says. "Studying what?"

"Art," Vic replies, and Rob blinks. _That works_. "She's doin' a crackin' job, as well. Passin' with flyin' colours."

It's weird. Robert remembers the day that Liv begged him to go to parents' evening with her because she was terrified of Aaron seeing her grades. He'd sat and berated the teacher for the way they spoke to her and they'd left with Liv looking at him like he'd just hung the moon.

People have changed since he's been gone. They've changed a lot.

"When is she gonna be home?" he asks, looking up at the clock. Half-one.

"Erm - soon. About two-ish."

"She's gonna flip when she sees me." 

"No," Vic says, taking his hand. "She won't. She'll think she's dreamin', and she'll try and wake herself up."

 

-

 

She does indeed.

She walks into the pub, now old enough to buy her own drink. There's a portfolio fit to burst under her left arm and her hair is long, pulled up in a tight braid; she'll taller, slimmer, her eyes have softened and lost that juvenile mischief but there's still something so inherently Liv in the way she walks and talks and holds herself.

She doesn't see him at first. Just walks up to the bar, orders a drink and Charity has to point at Robert to get her to turn round.

 

"... _Robert_?"

"Liv."

 

They barely make it into the back room before Liv starts crying. She cries and cries and clings onto him like he might disappear any second.

"I missed you," she sobs into his shirt; she still only comes up to his torso. "I missed you so much."

"I missed you too," he says, into her hair. 

They stay like that for what feels like hours, before she pulls away and wipes her eyes with the sleeve of her jumper. Robert looks down and sees his little fourteen-year-old terror again and now it's his turn to cry.

  

Liv plays the guitar now. She's good at it, too.

He's finding out all this stuff now he's back. Everything that he missed. Cain and Moira are back together, Finn's found a boyfriend, people have left and died and new faces have appeared. It's all a bit of a mess, like he's taken the red pill and entered the real world where nothing quite fits together anymore.

Liv shows him her artwork; the portfolio is spread out on the dining room table and Robert thumbs through the papers in silent awe. There's a drawing of the Woolpack, the lines thick with charcoal, each detail unfairly precise.

"This is insane," he comments, breathless. "I never knew you could draw like this."

Liv just smiles, watching him the entire time. She doesn't dare look away, like she's scared that if she does, she'll turn back and he'll have gone, disintegrated like smoke into the air.

 

"Have ya told Aaron you're back yet?"

He says no and Liv dives for her phone. He stops her.

"Don't," he pleads, and she frowns at him, confused. "I just - I need time to get used to all this again."

She understands, nodding. "But you're stayin'?"

He keeps his hands under the table, fiddling with his engagement ring, and his eyes on the familiar shape of Liv's face and hair and smile. Her smile looks like Robert's does now - inexperienced, flinching slightly like a creature coming out of its den. She's very much like her brother in the aspect that she has one of those proper smiles that is never there until it is, and it wraps you up in it and makes you feel warm and proud all the way through.

"I can't leave now, can I?" he says, assuringly.

She beams, and Robert's sure he sees the sun in her eyes.

 

-

 

Chas runs in, bolts through the door like she's on fire. The shopping bags fall to the ground and she stands there for a few seconds before speaking, her mouth in a perfect O shape.

"When did  _you_ get back?" she breathes, clearly stunned and Robert braces himself.

"Just this morning." He stands up; he's sure his voice is shaking. His hands definitely are. "I would've called, but it took a while for me to -"

He doesn't get chance to finish because she's in front of him and her arms are around his neck, and she's hugging him with waves of relief tumbling from her shoulders.

 

She feeds him; of course she does. Robert's lashed enough venom about Chas' parenting skills in the past but when it comes down to it, Chas is composed entirely of familial love and she'll be damned to see those she loves go without. 

Robert lost a lot of weight in prison. He shrunk, his clothes don't fit properly. His jeans hang low on his waist the way Aaron's jogging bottoms that were too big for him used to and there's air between his sleeves and his arms.

Chas cooks up a banquet and Robert devours every morsel. It makes him feel queasy but he doesn't care.

"Ya can stay here," she says, hands clasped around a mug of tea. "I'd offer ya a room if we had one but Noah took your old room, so..."

She trails off like she's embarrassed, in that motherly way, that she wasn't prepared for this situation. 

"It's fine," Robert smiles, putting his cutlery down. "Thank you."

He has seconds and my god, he's missed the Dingles' homemade shepherd's pie almost as much as the Dingles themselves.

 

Paddy and Rhona are back together. Leo is nearly ten, bobbing along beside his mum, his shaggy hair the exact colour of lemons. Pierce is nowhere to be seen. Apparently he lashed out one day and hit Rhona, and Rhona threw out all his belongings and lit a match and literally burned them all in the middle of the street.

Robert can remember Paddy's face in the gallery when he'd been sent down; the twist of his mouth, a look of smugness or gratitude that had been somewhat rained on. Maybe if Robert had actually been guilty, it'd have been a bit more satisfying. It wouldn't have tasted as bitter in Paddy's mouth.

He doesn't talk to him but he sees him in the pub and stares, for a little bit too long. Rob thinks it's about to go somewhere but then Paddy nods slightly and turns back to Rhona, and it's Emmerdale, isn't it? It's too small a place to hold grudges.

 

"Evenin', love," Chas says down the phone. Her eyes are wary, wide. She gestures at Robert and his heart starts thudding in his chest:  _Aaron._ "No, no, love, everythin's fine. Borin' as usual without ya."

She goes silent for a bit then holds the receiver out to Rob, offering it to him. He holds his hand out instinctively but then he sees it shake, and reels it back in, shaking his head. 

He's not ready. Not yet. He still feels light, hollow-boned; like if a strong enough wind comes along it'll blow him away.

 

-

 

His name, it turns out, has become a muddy legend throughout the village; he's the ghost story they tell to newcomers over a pint. _The Sugden brothers? Oh, aye. Stitched up like kippers, the pair of ‘em. And by the same woman._

He wonders what it would be like if he were Andy, if people had spent months thinking he'd actually done it. He's lucky. Aaron knows, and the other Dingles know, and Liv knows. He's spent undeserved time but he's been given his life back. Andy, on the other hand, is somewhere on the planet with a price on his head.

There's still been no contact. Robert used to refresh his inbox three or four times a minute, waiting for something.

 

"Where are the Whites?" he asks, over the bar. "You'd have thought they'd have come to gloat by now."

"They're gone," Chas says simply, pulling a pint. 

"Gone?"

"Yeah," she continues, pausing when she sees the look on his face. "They ruined two innocent men's lives - one of them family. We weren't gonna let them get away with that."

Robert isn't sure what she means by that - he pictures shovels and hushed secrets, knowing Cain - but it makes his stomach feel some type of way. One knot loosens but another one tightens.

 

Chas isn't kidding. Home Farm is empty, _gutted_ \- just a shell of a house with a 'for sale' sign dug into the ground before it.

Robert tilts his head back and wonders why he used to crave it. It's a pile of bricks and cement, with some nice scenery surrounding it; there's no hold now, nothing special.

Aaron once stayed the week there, whilst he was still with Chrissie. He left his mark on every bedsheet and counter and when she came back, Robert slept on the right side of the bed for the first time ever so he could curl up into the dip Aaron had left.

 

-

 

It's Wednesday. Rob has no work today. Liv only has one hour of classes but she skips it anyway. The air is crisp and scorching hot, perfect beach weather, but Liv wants to just stay in and play video games. So they do.

They sit in the front room of the Mill, not on the sofa but in front of it. The room hasn't changed a bit since Robert left; maybe there's a few more photos, and some of Liv's artwork has been framed. The skirting boards need repainting and there's dirty coffee mugs on the side but it's not a dump yet - in fact, it's the little odd bits that make it homely, in a way that Home Farm never felt.

(Robert had almost had a heart attack when Liv walked him in with no one to meet them, and was about to grab his phone and have a go at Aaron for leaving her home alone for the entire week when he realised: Liv's  _eighteen_ now. Fucking hell.)

Liv's good at video games. Robert's surprisingly good too, despite having not played them in years - or, well, _ever_.

 

"What was prison like?" she asks him, out of the blue. "Was it like the films?"

He freezes and Mario skids on a banana peel. "It was busy," he decides on. "There was always something going on."

"Like drugs and stuff?"

"I tried to stay out of all that," he says. 

"So, what - ya just hang around in a cell all day?"

"Pretty much."

She blinks, like she's surprised that it really is so basic; people - typically ones who have never actually been behind bars - like to glamorise prison. They think it's a free hotel stretch with meals and entertainment thrown in. Sure, he didn't starve, but they don't know about the emptiness that comes with it; that feeling that burned through him when he was told that there'd been a stabbing, or that someone he'd just met had been found hanging in their cell, or that no one had come to visit him.

She goes quiet for a stretch. The game restarts and Robert's in the lead.

"Why did ya take so long to come back?" is her next question. 

Robert sighs and goes into himself to try and find the words, to place them in the right order. "Things weren't easy, Liv. I had to readjust. Get used to everything."

"Ya could have done that here," she says, quietly. "Did ya not _want_ to come back or sommat-"

"No," he says very quickly. "I wanted to come back. More than anything."

It bugs him that she's not fourteen anymore and he can't use the  _you'll understand one day_ excuse.

"Besides," he continues, overtaking her on a tricky bend. "Even if, for whatever reason, I _didn't_ want to come back - I wouldn't have stayed away much longer. It's hard to live where people don't want you."

"We want ya," she says. "We love you."

"I know," he says, smiling just a bit. "I love you too."

 

David's shop is out of newspapers when he pops in. Jacob (apparently also skipping college) has shot up like a weed, gone almost strawberry blonde and David's hair is a messy ginger mop on his head. Both of them startle a little when he walks in, like they've seen a ghost. Robert feels his jaw tighten slightly; people look at him now like he's a grenade, walking around with the pin out. 

"Alright, mate?" David grins once he's loosened. He's always been friendly. "Nice to see you back."

The tablecloths are green now and the fruit rack is on the opposite wall but it hasn't changed that much.

 

He needs to do a big shop. He's only just got back but he's slotting perfectly into his old place, and that place is pushing a trolley around Tesco's, stocking up the cupboards.

("You can't live on TV dinners all your life," he'd told Liv when he'd seen the empty shelves of the fridge. "At least learn to cook before you go off to uni."

She scoffs lightly. " _If_ I go. Anyway, who's gonna teach me? Aaron can just about pull together beans on toast, and that's on a good day."

"I will," he says, and it thuds with commitment. )

Liv's gone to Gabby's and when she comes back, she sees Robert unlocking his car, prising open the door.

"Wait!" she yells. Her feet grind the path into dust as she runs. "Where ya going?!"

"Just to the shop," he replies. There's a wobble to Liv's chin, and her eyes are glassy for some reason. "Do you want to come?"

Then suddenly she's hugging him, tightly, shaking and sniffing back tears. "I thought you were leavin'."

 

"Oh, Liv," he sighs. She feels small in his arms, like a child again. "I'm not going anywhere."

 

-

 

Wishing Well Cottage still smells like dog. Alfie is somehow still alive, belly-up on the couch; all the fabrics are scratchy with age and Lisa's cooking game pie. It's such a Yorkshire image, such an  _Emmerdale_ image that it has Robert almost dizzy with nostalgia.

He remembers his first Dingle dinner here. Cain had shot him daggers over the potatoes and Aaron had reached under the table and laced Robert's fingers with his own, squeezing slightly.  _You're fine_ , he'd said with his eyes.  _It's fine._

Now he sits at the table and feels alien. Things have - well, they've changed. Just a little but enough to be noticeable. 

 

Joanie isn't a thing anymore. Zak and Lisa sit next to each other, smiling like nothing ever happened. There's a rosiness back in Lisa's cheek and when they kiss, Robert finds himself looking down at the tablecloth.

Liv is next to him, hair in French plaits, pinned up like a halo around her head; Robert's handiwork, he's proud to admit. Prison made him forget some things but not the little skills like frying onions or braiding hair.

Cain yawns. There are purple crescents beneath his eyes, sunken ones.

"You look knackered, son," Zak says.

"I am," he grumbles. "Moira was out takin' care of bloody baby cows all night. I didn't get a wink."

"Oh, aye," Belle says. She's platinum blonde now, and still looks incredibly young for her age. "Poor you, tucked up in bed while Moira's out in the freezin' cold."

"Er, excuse me," Cain snipes. "You know my back's been playin' up. I'd be out there if I could."

The bowl of pie gets passed around like a parcel. 

"Sciatica problems, love?" Lisa asks as she spoons food onto her plate.

"We've all been there," Zak adds.

Belle snorts. "Please. The only trouble he's ever had with sciatica is when he's tried to spell it."

 

Everyone laughs. Robert does, too - softly, so he can't be heard. The pie is delicious but too gamey, too rich for a stomach so used to freeze-dried pasta and spiced cardboard; he picks at it until everybody's finished then loads what's left into Alfie's bowl.

He offers to help with the washing up. He's up to his elbows in suds when Lisa joins him.

"Hello, love," she smiles. She has a nice smile, kind and wide. "D'ya need a hand?"

He shakes his head. "No, it's alright." He'd washed his way through hours worth of dishes in prison. It gave him something to channel his anger into, scrubbing at the plastic trays until they paled in colour. "I'm nearly done, anyway."

Lisa nods, retreats a step then returns. "It's nice to have ya back, love. It's been too long."

"It's nice to _be_ back." He dries his hands on a towel and shoves them into his pockets; Lisa has always had a soft spot for him. When word spread about how he'd cared for Aaron, held him through the whole Gordon fiasco, she'd been the first to welcome him in, brand him proper family.

They were close to making him official family. But then everything happened.

"There's always a place for ya here, Rob," she says, taking the plates and stacking them in the cupboards. They're little words for such a maternal person but Robert feels every one of them of them land, clutching at his heart. "And for the record, I think it's disgusting what that Chrissie did to ya. She should be the one locked up."

Robert sighs. Chrissie and Rebecca and all them lot are probably on a beach somewhere, sipping cocktails. Wading in ocean waters instead of guilty consciences. 

"Yeah, well, it's too late now," he says. "It's all over and done with. I can get back to - well, to being normal."

 

Lisa places a comforting hand on his arm, and scrunches her eyes up with fondness. "He waited for ya. He'll be over the moon when he sees you're back."

Robert fiddles with his engagement ring and prays that she's right.

 

-

 

"He's back tonight," Paddy says, with shrewd, piercing eyes. He doesn't need to tell Robert who he's talking about. "He went through a lot when ya got sent down. Be gentle."

Robert feels his chest tighten and nods. "Have you told Liv?"

"Liv already knows." He looks down at the remnants of his drink and swallows. "He doesn't talk about ya anymore."

"Cheers, Paddy," Robert says, biting down on his lower lip.

He shakes his head. "That's not what I meant. He - he doesn't - he _can't_ talk about ya. Even now."

"I know it's been a long time," Rob swallows. "And I know I could have come back earlier, but you know how much I love him. I hope you do, anyway."

Paddy sips the last of his pint, puts the glass down with unease. "Robert," he says. "He doesn't talk about ya because he _misses_ ya. Alright? Don't screw this up."

 

-

 

Liv's artwork is astounding. Robert only remembers back when she used to draw his face onto cartoon animals and even then he was bitterly impressed. But now she's come into her own and she's taking it seriously and fuck, the results are amazing.

It's mid-morning. Liv's at college - or so she says she is. The fact that all her equipment's still here says otherwise.

He's going through her portfolio again, examining the works he hadn't had chance to before. She's drawn everything, everyone and everything. Some are quick scribbles with a Biro and others are full-on masterpieces she's clearly spent days on; they're all signed and dated. The more angry ones are dated in the months after he got sent down.

 

She's drawn the village. She's drawn Alfie. She's drawn Gabby by the creek, sipping from beer bottles.

There's a small paper tucked in the very back, a little crumpled at the corners but in otherwise good nick. It's of Aaron; the details are a little blurred with watercolour but the scene is clear. Aaron, in that red jumper Robert always liked, curled up on the sofa in the front room, fast asleep. His thumb is slotted through the hole in his sleeve and she's even managed to include the furrow in his brows, the one that makes him look petulant. 

Robert runs his fingers over the paint, feeling something in his heart click. He bites his lower lip so hard it bleeds.

 

-

 

Some days are worse than others; some days Robert can barely even talk to the postman without his words clinging to his tongue. He's been out for months but sometimes he still struggles. Cars backfiring make him jump and he can't remember sleeping through a whole night uninterrupted.

He isn't slow anymore but he sticks sometimes. It isn't an issue. He picks himself back up and carries on, like he always has done.

"Liv!" he calls through the house, listening to her thud down the stairs. He's chopping carrots in the kitchen, leaving little grooves in the wooden board. "Run to the shop, will you? We're out of milk."

She pokes her head round the door and peers in. She's frowning. "What's that carrot ever done to  _you_?"

He pauses, looking up. "Eh?"

His knuckles are white around the handle.

She walks in and takes the knife from him; he lets her. "It's okay," she says. "You go. Ya look like you need the air."

He does. He heads out to David's and drinks the fresh air as he goes. It's a nice change from the vacuum of the prison, and the smog of the city.

 

She's on the phone to Aaron when he comes back.

"He sounds hungover," she scoffs when she hangs up. He plates up two bowls of casserole and hands one to her; they sit on the sofa and tuck in. "Dunno why we trusted him and Adam to go off on their own. 'Business trip' my arse. He's probably got bladdered every night."

There's a bitter twinge to her voice, one which makes Robert frown. "Doesn't sound like Aaron."

She looks up at him from beneath thick eyelashes with wide eyes, like she's just realised what she said. "Yeah, well - he's changed a bit. It's been years, Rob."

"You don't need to tell me that," he says. 

Liv sighs, stabbing at a piece of lamb with her fork. She's chewing the inside of her cheek. "He drank a lot. When you got sent down."

Robert closes his eyes. "How much?"

" _A lot_ a lot. He didn't cope very well, and - well, it's Aaron, innit? He went a bit loopy."

"Please tell me you looked after him," Rob swallows; his voice is breaking and he feels small, like he's back in the dock again. He may not be soft anymore but Aaron still is - he's soft and he has a heart too big for his body and he has a horrible penchant for turning things in on himself. 

Liv looks offended. "Of course we did! We tried our best. You're the only person he really talks to and ya weren't there."

"I know I wasn't," he says. He's spent the past four years coaxing himself to sleep in his cell with the idea that it wasn't his fault. He was set up, framed; he never burgled Home Farm, and that figure from the CCTV with his face covered was Chrissie's sick idea of an inside joke. A flashback to that day. Maybe he never robbed the house but it was his plan she was spoiling, his big marvellous plan. He'd gotten carried away, underestimated her.

He's paid the price for it now.

 

"Four years," Liv says, quietly, like it's just landing with her now.

"Everyone's been telling me that Aaron's alright," he says. "Were they lying?"

"He's back today," she replies. "Ask him yourself."

 

Aaron's due back at six. Robert wastes a few hours daydreaming. 

He spent a lot of time daydreaming when he was inside. The white wall was a perfect canvas and he could lie in bed and project pictures onto it; he didn't have to imagine for the first year but then they stopped visiting and he had to rely on his brain to think up what Liv might look like, how Aaron's voice might sound.

He wonders what it might have been like if he hadn't walked straight into Chrissie's trap. They'd have had longer in the Mill, with Liv and maybe a dog. Aaron would laugh at Rob's bad jokes and Rob would laugh at Aaron's clumsiness and they'd be happy.

He'd wake up in the morning, in their new bedroom and see Aaron's smile.

He thinks about it often. Alternate universes and all that. Ones where he got things right.

 

"Robert?" Liv says. They're in the Woolpack, in the back room. His stomach is tying itself in knots, winding around itself like rope. "Can I talk to ya?"

"Of course," he says. He makes them both a cup of tea and they settle on the couch. "What's up?"

She takes a sip and sighs. "He'll be back any minute. And he'll be fuckin' chuffed to see ya, okay, he will."

"But -?"

" _But_ if he's not - and he will be, I promise - but if he's not, will ya still stay?"

He smiles at her, weakly. "Would you want me to?"

"It doesn't matter what I want," she says, shaking her head. "I know ya came back for him. I'm glad you're here an' all, I love havin' ya here. But I'm not the reason you're here."

"Liv -" he begins, and she touches his hand. 

"'m not bein' soft or anythin', but you're the closest thing to a dad that I've got. I wouldn't be angry if ya left, and I wouldn't forget ya. I promise."

" _Liv_ ," he interjects, putting his cup down so he can take her shoulders. "I'm not going _anywhere_."

She grins and hugs him and he runs his fingers through her hair. "I love ya," she says quietly, into his shirt.

 

-

 

Liv runs into the bar when she hears the Dingles start to buzz. Aaron's back. Robert can hear Adam's ballsy yelling.

He's shaking like mad; his entire body is vibrating, unable to stop. He thought he'd managed to get a grip on himself by now but he clearly hasn't. But it's a good shake; it isn't one of fear. He paces back and forth, mumbling all his different greetings under his breath when the door opens.

"Robert?"

 

Robert is thirty-four. When he was twenty-eight, he met someone; he found a new sun in his world. When he was thirty, he was jailed for something he didn't do. But he isn't thirty anymore. He's thirty-four, and Aaron's twenty-eight, and he's stood before him and he's lit up like the night sky, like he's glowing from the inside.

 

"Aaron," Robert says, and he isn't supposed to sound like this - like his world is coming together.

 

Aaron used to run, sometimes, when things got too tough. Robert knows this about him.

Robert's not wrong. That's the thing, isn't it? Every time Aaron ran, Robert was there, able to predict his every move and provide whatever he needed. When he wasn't fucking up, he understood Aaron. He could be so good sometimes; he was _so good_. And then he went away.

"I got out six months ago," Robert says. Everything has gone silent, like the walls have ears and are listening in. "I'm sorry I didn't come sooner."

Aaron takes a step forward then freezes, eyes flitting over Robert's face, his body, his hand. "Rob, I - Rob."

"I missed you." The words flow out like honey from his mouth. "I just - I can't - I missed you. So much."

Aaron's fallen silent. Robert swallows, scared that maybe this is too much for him, too overwhelming. There's a moment where their heartbeats pulse in their ears; it stretches out, Robert's nerves shot with energy and none of it compares to Aaron stood here, in a blue shirt, trembling slightly. Nothing else could ever compare to it. Nothing in the whole world.

Aaron steps forward, rocking on his heels, and Robert looks up at him and it has been so long. So, so long, _too_ long, it has been lifetimes since Robert was here, in this room, in this pub, in this damn village. It has been centuries since Robert looked Aaron in the eye and felt the love for him pour out of every artery and every vein, every pore in his skin. 

 

"Robert," Aaron says, letting out a shaky breath. "Are you - is this - are you _real_?"

Robert isn't good at making promises. Or he's good at making them, he's not good at keeping them. Sometimes he breaks them, along with hearts, and sometimes he grows bored. He's known this all of his life, learnt it with every decision he's ever made but none of that matters now. All of it is gone, decayed and crumbling in the face of Aaron's mouth, of Aaron's hands - of Aaron, _his_ Aaron, stood here in flesh and bone and blood.

"Yeah," he says, devotedly. "Yeah, Aaron. I promise. This is real."

 

There's a beat where Aaron goes very pink, very shaky. He's crying, his shoulders are jumping and Robert thinks for a second that he might yell, might scream or shout.

Instead, he moves quickly and his hands are grasping onto the lapels of Robert's jacket and his fingers are digging in a little too tight and Robert can't help it; his hands move up to Aaron's face and he holds him, not tight but not gentle, and they're kissing.

It feels like fire. Like lightning is seeping through his blood. Like the last four years, like his entire life has been building up to this moment and this moment alone; Aaron in his arms, on his lips. In his life.

 

"I'm sorry we stopped visitin'," Aaron says. They are both slightly hazy and pink-cheeked, riding the high. They're sat on the sofa, as close as physically possible, limbs entangled. Robert's running his fingers through Aaron's hair, working it free of its gel - it's longer than he remembers, thicker and darker. "Ya got transferred and it got harder to find ya. Harder to see ya, y'know."

Robert shuffles, lets Aaron settle into the new creases. "Liv said things got bad."

"They weren't gonna get better," he says, grimly. Robert leans down and kisses the top of Aaron's head; he tastes the gel on his lips. 

"But things are okay now?" 

Aaron looks up and nods. His eyes are wide and glistening like jewels. "They are now."

"I'm sorry it took me so long," Robert says. He's apologised a lot this week - it's a new record. "I wanted to come back when I got out. I just couldn't face it. I was scared you'd moved on, or that you didn't want me to come back or something."

"I always wanted ya to." He pauses, running a hand over his face. "I waited for ya. I started panickin' a bit when I realised ya weren't comin', but-"

Robert traces the curve of Aaron's cheekbones with his thumb. "I did, though."

"Ya did." Aaron has that happy look to his eyes. It's so rare and so special; it's a masterpiece that not even Liv could conjure up.  

 

**Author's Note:**

> >   
>  _The woods are lovely, dark and deep,_   
>  _But I have promises to keep,_   
>  _And miles to go before I sleep._   
> 
> 
> i'm on [tumblr](http://festivesugden.tumblr.com/) if you want to say hi!


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